Jul 27, 2010

We're all cowards behind masks of gay laughter

"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." - Oscar Wilde

My mask is my blog. In person, I hardly talk about my feelings - if I do, I'm usually only telling you the tip of the iceberg. I usually don't say what I feel. I might as well be a mute, really - when I speak the world just thinks I'm intellectually disabled. Especially if I'm talking about something I've been thinking about for a very long time. It never comes out right. Usually I just get ignored when I do that because nobody understands what I'm talking about. It's an INFP characteristic - and it's always been my personality - to appear aloof, shy or like I don't really mind, but still water runs very, very deep. You know, usually when people think (or when I make people think) I'm sleeping or daydreaming, my brain's actually going wild with thoughts.

When I pen my thoughts down, my caged up heart is set free.

When I blog something, it's equivalent to a normal person simply telling someone else about her emotions. I guess it's bad that when I write, I tend to get carried away with the beauty of words and phrase things in a way that implies stronger feelings than what I intended. It rocks to be able to finally express yourself after a day of carrying burdens of holding things in, of regretting things I didn't voice out earlier, and I get carried away with that weightlessness. After a day of being an emotionless face - or feeling like an object of ridicule - or having smiled a little too much - it's nice to feel human. When you give me the opportunity to write, I cannot lie. I just cannot.

I'm sorry everyone else - normal people who voice out their thoughts instead of letting them out on a blog - take things differently. I'm sorry.

I should know when to use my private blog. That way I don't bitch to anyone, plus nobody at all gets hurt.

But somehow that's just equivalent to bottling it up to me. I like knowing someone else might have understood how I felt. That's why you bitch too.


I'm sorry to you, and I'm also sorry people don't tend to accept my way of emoting. Maybe I need speech therapy.


(Psst, do you remember being very involved in the bitching about me once upon a time? Because I remember. We hardly even knew each other then. Then again, I guess the lack of belief everyone had in me with the position I had been appointed and my relationship at the time made for fantastic juice.)

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